Archangel
by Valery Waralic
Summary: The retelling of the beloved movie Legion with the addition of one character. Can Michael change the fate of the world with the help of the vampiress Diaga?  Very incomplete
1. Chapter One

I'm so happy that you're reading Archangel! However, I must warn you that is EXTREMELY personal work and I will NOT tolerate any kind of flaming. If you don't like it, keep it to yourself. Please respect me and my writing. However, critique and comments are very appreciated! There are some parts that I'm not happy with, so any help is appreciated! =)

Please Note: This is the UPDATED version! This is not the same as it was when Archangel was first published onto ! So, please take some time to re-read chapters 1&2 before launching into 3!

Thanks again! Enjoy!

N.C.

* * *

Eraser crumbs littered the old oak desk and the dark carpet was polka-dotted with balled up pieces of paper – failed ideas. The pencil clattered to the desktop and rolled onto the floor. The writer, who was all too distressed about her work, took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. She was a fair thing, with a pretty, youthful face and full lips, and eyes a strange colour that was such a clear blue that it appeared almost violet. She heaved a sigh and ran a hand through her dark blonde curls. Her muse was gone and therefore, she couldn't write. It frustrated her to no end.

"What are you doing wrong?" she asked herself, leaning her elbows on the desk. The blank pages and eraser crumbs gave her neither clues nor inspiration. Thinking that she needed a distraction, she heaved herself from the chair and took a few slow steps toward the large bay window. The sun was almost finished setting and only a few orange rays lingered, caught in the wispy grasp of slate-coloured December clouds that hung near the purple mountains.

The view was amazing from up in the tall building – she felt as if she could see the whole city and then some. The Mojave Desert beckoned to her as it always did when she gazed at it from her window - a strange calling that drew her body as well as her heart. She never knew why she wanted the desert, but she did. The girl pressed her hand against the glass, wishing that she could run away and explore the wastes that rolled on beyond the outskirts of Los Angeles.

Suddenly, there was a rapid knock at the door and the woman quickly spun. The violet eyes, which had been deep and melted as she gazed upon the desert, became cold and guarded. Her boots clip-clopped on the metal floor as she swept to the door quickly and confidently. Whoever was interrupting her should prepare themselves to face her wrath - interruption was not something she took lightly.

She placed her hand delicately on the keypad and the door slid open with a fluid, swift motion. Behind the door stood a tall man, with tan skin and dark hair. He had a goatee that matched his hair and a pair of ruby eyes that glowed like a jaguar's in the half-light. He took a step back, motioning with two fingers for the girl to follow him.

"Kruger, I'm busy," she said, a hint of annoyance in her smooth voice, "How long are you going to keep me?"

"A while," he replied shortly. His deep voice held traces of a British accent – an accent that also could be heard in the girl's voice. Though time had weathered most of their accents away, the remnants were audible and a reminder of who Kruger and the girl had been once upon a time.

The girl made an unhappy noise, but had little choice – Kruger was the coven leader. His word was law. She looked back at the oak desk as the door slid closed and then followed the tall man down a series of short hallways into the coven's archive room.

A steel table sat at the centre of the room, ringed by a herd of little silver stools, with a single light hanging over it. Shelves sat behind the table, extending deep into the room, where there was no light. The air was still and cool and smelled of ancient paper. Before the girl could examine the newest discoveries, which were displayed on a little shelf near the door, Kruger cleared his throat and pulled out one of the stools with his foot. He motioned for her to sit. She complied, however begrudgingly, and waited. Kruger retrieved something from the pocket of his black slacks and reached forward to place it on the table.

"What's this?" she asked, peering first at the old scroll. It was four of five inches long and not very thick. The paper had been wrapped around a thick silver rod with strange markings engraved into it. Beside it, Kruger had placed a folded piece of paper.

"Read the paper first, Diaga." Kruger remained just behind her, undoubtedly so that he could grab her should she grow bold and try to escape reading the page.

She reached across the table lazily, letting her silver nails drag across the steel table as she did so. She took the paper, immediately seeing the words Police Report written in bold block lettering at the top of the page. It was an incident report, in which two officers were shot by an unknown, heavily-armed assailant. The perpetrator was male, roughly 6' 3", and had apparently stolen the officers' car (according to witnesses). After she finished reading the entire account, Diaga leaned back against Kruger's stomach and whistled.

"Rogue?" she said, tossing the page back onto the table. A rogue vampire would usually be the only reason that law enforcement would contact Kruger with an incident report. Even though half the city government was in his pocket, he usually didn't get random reports.

"No, this wasn't anyone from our coven. I'm not even sure it's a vampire. The G-Track didn't show anyone in that area last night. But good news is that the vehicle was recently outfitted with a GPS device, so we can track it."

"We?" Diaga said, raising a brow.

"You know there is no one in this coven or in this world that I trust more than you, Diaga. You're good at getting answers and you're good at solving problems. This is a big problem. I can't put this in anyone else's hands."

Diaga jumped up and turned to walk back to her room. She was not a Chaser and was not about to become one – Chasers got dead more than they got their fugitives. As she took a step away, she felt Kruger's strong hand on her wrist.

"Don't make me order you," he whispered in her ear, "You know I will."

She spun, teeth bared. Her overdeveloped canine teeth gleamed dangerously in the bright halogen light.

"Look at the scroll," he said, releasing her wrist. She growled, low in her throat, but returned to her seat and unfurled the scroll. The heavy silver rod glittered with a hint of magic at her touch, but that wasn't the strangest part.

The long parchment had no words. Instead, several images decorated the ancient paper, drawn in the style of 15th century British artwork. They depicted humans and lambs being slaughtered by the hands of –

"What are these? Demons?" Diaga had never seen something so strange. They looked like humans with mouths full of pointed teeth and huge black wings. They seemed to claw at the eyes of the humans and slice open the throats of the lambs. _What monsters,_ Diaga thought, _could commit these crimes?_

"I wish. That would make things much more clear cut. According to the prophet who made this, those are _angels_."


	2. Chapter Two

I'm so happy that you're reading Archangel! However, I must warn you that is EXTREMELY personal work and I will NOT tolerate any kind of flaming. If you don't like it, keep it to yourself. Please respect me and my writing. However, critique and comments are very appreciated! There are some parts that I'm not happy with, so any help is appreciated! =)

Please Note: This is the UPDATED version! This is not the same as it was when Archangel was first published onto ! So, please take some time to re-read chapters 1&2 before launching into 3!

Thanks again! Enjoy!

N.C.

* * *

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Diaga growled. She rolled the scroll back up, clutching onto it tightly. "Is that what I'm dealing with?"

"Perhaps," Kruger said, "I want to be sure. _That's_ why I'm sending you. Find this guy and make him talk. If he's not an angel, find out who or what he is, and then _kill_ him. If - God forbid - he is, find out exactly what's going to happen. I want concrete proof, not the ancient drawings of a 600-year-old prophet. Clear?"

"Got it," she said, standing up and taking the police report, too. She waved Kruger along, allowing him to follow close behind as she walked through the halls. Once inside her room, she made him hold her small backpack. She threw an extra change of clothes on the bottom, then a notebook and a collection of pens and pencils. The police report and the scroll followed those. She topped it off with a black MasterCard.

"Give me that gun," she said, motioning to the six-shooter she kept on the dresser. Kruger passed it to her, rolling his eyes. Diaga had a thing for cowboys. She carried the peacemaker and kept a supple leather cowboy hat, and had even had a phase in her life where she rode a pony on the rodeo circuit. Perhaps that was why she longed for the desert.

"How do I look?" she asked. She had strapped the gun's leather holster around her waist. Her blue jeans and cowboy boots didn't make it seem terribly out-of-place. She pulled a fur-lined coat over her long-sleeved black shirt then slung the backpack over her shoulders.

"Not too shabby," Kruger said, smiling and tousling her long curls. He placed a cellphone in her hand.

"What's that for?"

"Call me after you make contact," he said, "And it has the GPS software that will connect you directly to the car's GPS system. You're going to need to be fast, so take these too." He dangled a pair of keys in front of the girl's face. She leaped at them like a kitten going after string.

"Sweet," she said as she yanked them from his fingertips. A giddiness rose in her chest, anticipation for the machine that she was about to be travelling with. She strode to the elevator, Kruger in tow, and as she pressed the "Down" button, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're doing me a huge boon," he said, "Just be safe. Don't get shot." He kissed her, catching her bottom lip with one elongated canine, then took his leave. Blood welled on the inside of her lip and she pressed her tongue to the small wound, silently cursing him as he sauntered away. The elevator doors opened wide and she stepped inside, pressing the "B3" button on the directory panel.

When the elevator finally come to a halt in the basement, the doors opened slowly. The room was dark, silent, and chilly. But Diaga needed no light and strode expertly toward the black Aston Martin Vantage. Even in the pitch dark, she could see the sleek curves of the car. Grinning, she unlocked it and slid inside, tossing her pack onto the seat next to her. The engine roared to life with a turn of the key and Diaga couldn't help but smile wider as she revved the engine. She loved to drive and the Vantage was the ultimate machine in the way of handling and speed, as well as the sexiest thing Diaga had ever seen on four wheels. As she ran her hands over the steering wheel, she took a moment to think.

She wasn't afraid of Kruger ordering her – if she had _really_ put up a fight, he would have simply gone himself. He was reasonable and not violent, so there was really no reason for her to be in this car unless _she_ wanted her to. Did she want to? Diaga wasn't sure. She felt the same pull as she did when she looked out toward the desert.

The GPS locator had finished it's diagnostic sequence and found the stolen vehicle, which appeared on the small screen as a blinking orange dot. It wasn't moving incredibly fast for the moment, and was only about three hours away from the city, a straight shot down the desert highway. The girl disengaged the parking brake and the Vantage roared forward, through a tunnel and out onto the highway. As miles passed, she increased her speed past reckless and into dangerous, in order to close the gap. While she was unsure about what she would find when she caught up to the car, she was definitely sure that she _would_ catch up.


	3. Chapter Three

I'm so happy that you're reading Archangel! However, I must warn you that is EXTREMELY personal work and I will NOT tolerate any kind of flaming. If you don't like it, keep it to yourself. Please respect me and my writing. However, critique and comments are very appreciated! There are some parts that I'm not happy with, so any help is appreciated! =)

Please Note: This is the UPDATED version! This is not the same as it was when Archangel was first published onto ! So, please take some time to re-read chapters 1&2 before launching into 3!

Thanks again! Enjoy!

N.C.

* * *

It was nearly 2 AM when Diaga, eyes sore from constantly scanning the horizon, saw the police cruiser. To her surprise, as she drew closer, it pulled off to the side of the road. For a few moments, it didn't move. The headlights of both cars burned up the darkness, making it nearly impossible to see much beyond their reach. But Diaga was a night hunter and wouldn't have difficulties negotiating the darkness. As she pulled the Vantage off the road just behind the police cruiser, she could feel her pulse increasing.

"Calm yourself," she said aloud. She checked the license plates, though she didn't really see the use – how many Los Angeles police cruisers were 300 miles out into the desert. She tried to look into the back window, but the combination of darkness and window tint was much too dark for even her to see anything beyond the murky shapes of the seats. She heaved a sigh and got out of the car. As she approached the vehicle's driver side door, it swung open. Sand crunched under the boots of a man whose expression was anything but friendly.

"Sir, I'm an F.B.I. Agent," she fibbed, "Step away from the vehicle." She unclipped her six-shooter, ready to skin it should the man pose a threat.

"Quit your lying, you blood-sucking beast."

Diaga was taken aback. This man knew exactly what she was. She took a moment to give him an up-and-down look over. He had a freshly-shaven head, was dressed in modern clothes, and had tattoos on his neck that looked as though they could have extended down his body. His hands, one of which held a handgun, were also tattooed. His blue eyes were crystal clear and filled with something along the lines of melancholy and disgust.

"That wasn't nice," she growled, baring her enlarged canine teeth, "Care to tell me, what's your name and your purpose here."

"I don't have to answer to you," he said, "You and your kind have no jurisdiction." He raised the gun slightly, as a warning. Clearly, this tactic wasn't working. Diaga took a step backwards. She didn't like the direction that the conversation was going in but she also didn't want to pull her gun if she didn't have to.

"Okay, I understand, I can't _make_ you answer," the girl said, taking in a deep breath of desert air, "My name is Diaga Nocht. I was sent to gather information about the man who stole a cop car." Perhaps surrendering information voluntarily would put the man in a better mood.

He seemed to take her words in, then his brow furrowed.

"What kind of information are you gathering?" he asked finally.

"Just trying to figure out who you are," she said, fingering her pistol, "To be certain that I don't have to _kill_ you."

The man's face was suddenly plagued with something like realization. He seemed to consider the girl's vicious tone.

"I'm not anything that you should be concerned with," he said.

"You may be right," Diaga said. Her predatory instincts had already noted that the man was wincing when he moved his arms too quickly or too high. He tried to hide it, but her keen eye saw through his act. He was injured, which gave her an advantage in every way possible.

"Look, just tell me your name and I'll help fix up your wounds."

The man paused for a moment, looking pensive. There was a bit of pain laced in his eyes, which seemed to be trained on the girl's lips. Probably waiting for her to sprout a forked tongue. Then he lowered his weapon.

"Michael," he said, looking resigned. His voice was calm and smooth, but stress had made him almost hoarse.

Diaga smiled. There was only one Michael she had ever heard of – one of the Archangels. So he _was_ an angel. "Damn, now I can't kill you."

"What?"

"My orders were to kill the theft unless he was an angel. Being that is what you are; I don't get to kill you." Perhaps revelling in it wasn't the best course of action, but it made the vampire smile.

The man looked her in the eye and furrowed his brow angrily. "Spit your poison elsewhere, beast. A deal is binding."

"My name, if you didn't hear the first time, is Diaga. So use it. There should be a first aid kit in the trunk, pop it for me," the girl said, clipping the holster back so the gun wouldn't fall out on the sandy desert ground and pulling her hair into a ponytail. On her neck, two scars were evident. They were evenly spaced and about the width of a pencil tip. Classic marks of a vampire. She felt Michael's gaze lingering on them for a moment before he, without a word, went to the cruiser, popped the trunk, and walked back toward it. Diaga beat him there and dug through some papers and jackets to find the first aid kit, a heavy red bag made of canvas. She shut the trunk and placed the kit on top of it, then hopped up on the trunk and sat cross-legged next to the kit.

"Shirt off," she said to Michael, "and come sit up here. We don't need you falling in the sand if you pass out."

Michael sat on the edge of the trunk with his heels on the bumper, so he could slide off quickly if need be. Diaga rolled her eyes and repeated her instruction to take his shirt off. When he did so, she saw that her inference about his tattoos had been correct. His entire back and both arms, and probably his chest, were covered in various tattoos all letters and phrases in the ancient Enochian language. As she examined the two massive wounds on his shoulder blades (which had a botched stitch job done on them), she let her eyes linger on the thin scar that circled the man's whole neck. Interesting. She didn't pursue it then; she just cleaned the wounds with a smelly, stinging disinfectant and bandaged them with cotton and medical tape. She worked quickly and ended with cleaning some of the dried blood from the man's back.

"Who stitched this?" she asked as she packaged up the first aid kit and hopped back off the trunk.

"I did," Michael said, sliding from the trunk. He pulled his shirt and trench coat back on slowly. Clearly, the wounds were still painful. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure what had caused those wounds, but like many other things, Diaga decided to let it go.

"Well," she said, smiling and trying to be friendly, "Not bad for a first-timer. On yourself, none-the-less. But, um, unless you've got some more to tell me, I'll be on my way."

"No, you won't. You're taking me in your car. I've decided that, despite your...being what you are, you might be a formidable ally where we're going," Michael said, pulling two huge duffel bags from the passenger seat of the police cruiser. Diaga leaned against the dark hood of the Aston Martin, one eyebrow raised.

Deciding to play along, Diaga asked, "Where exactly are we going?"

"A place that is called Paradise Falls. It is a diner, I believe. There is someone there whom I must protect. And I fear I may already be running late. Please pop the trunk," Michael said, peering at the girl with his crystalline blue eyes. She did as asked. He placed the duffle bags into the Aston Martin's trunk, wincing a little as he lifted the heavier of the two.

"And, if I'm such a terrible monster, why are you telling me?" Diaga asked, opening the driver's side door.

"That is the agreement. You help me, I help you. And as I said, it is binding. So I _have_ to give you the information you seek – it's not a choice."

"Ah. Whadaya mean, like a truth serum? I can just keep asking shit and you _have_ to answer?"

Michael coughed lightly and went around to the passenger door of the vehicle. Diaga got in the driver's seat and started the engine, which purred as she put her seatbelt on and Michael slid into the passenger seat, lifting Diaga's bag onto his lap.

"Not exactly. But valid questions, I will answer them."

"So, what do you have against vampires?" Diaga said as she disengaged the parking brake. She put the car in drive and rolled back onto the pavement. Quickly getting up to speed, Diaga gripped the steering wheel with both hands and glanced at Michael.

"I was an angel," he said simply.

"How does that answer my question?"

Michael rubbed his temples and took a deep breath.

"You...creatures are Satan's children, are you not?"

"We most certainly _aren't_," Diaga said, indignant, "We are just as human as anyone else. We're _infected_ with the most beneficial and condemning disease ever recorded in history, but we are _not_ demons. Let's get that straight."

The angel looked conflicted. He knitted his brows together, cocking his head slightly to the right.

"Everything I've ever been told is that you are the Devil's things. I didn't realize that might not be true," he said, leaning back in the seat and focusing intently on his knees. Diaga felt as though she may have put him out a little with her sharp tone and bit her lip.

"Well, we do still have to drink human blood," she said, trying to lighten up her attitude, "And so that makes us pretty unpopular. But, you want a formidable ally – you definitely got one. I'm quicker, stronger, and much more durable than your average human. I can see in the dark too. Can't do any magic though, which always disappointed me."

"Good to know."

Diaga made a face. Clearly she wasn't getting through to him. She returned her focus to the road, allowing the man some space. The darkness stretched out, thick and inky, and she hoped that they would get to this Paradise Falls place before it got too bright.

Michael didn't say anything for a long time. As the miles passed, she slowly forgot about the conversation and started asking herself a question. Why had she agreed to come along? It was as if something had possessed her briefly, compelling her to agree with anything Michael had said. For a few moments, she lied to herself, saying that she was going with him because it was part of her orders. But, after some more thinking, she realized that she had _wanted_ to come. Adventure was calling her name.

After another hour or so, Diaga pulled into a gas station. Luckily, it was a 24-hour operation. She leaned against the trunk as the gas pumped, tapping her toe and quietly singing the lyrics to the song that was playing over the intercom. After the tank was full, she leaned on the passenger side window sill. Michael rolled down the window, looking at the girl with one brow raised. She smiled at him, batted her eyelashes a bit, and then asked if he wanted anything to eat.

"No," he said, rolling up the window. Clearly, he still hadn't gotten over the vampire thing.

"Maybe it's the teeth?" Diaga said to herself. As she crossed the parking area to the little convenience store, she tapped one canine with a silver fingernail. She entered the store with confident ease, immediately getting the full attention of the attendant. Ignoring his greeting, she found the candy isle and grabbed two Baby Ruth's. Not quite satisfied, she also picked up a bag of beef jerky and two waters. She paid, winked at the cashier, and then trotted back to the car.

"Can we get going now?" Michael said, sounding impatient as the vampire situated herself back in the driver's seat. She gave him cross glare.

"If we don't eat anything, neither of us will be useful to whoever we're supposed to be protecting," she said matter-of-factly, extending a Baby Ruth towards him. He made a face, glaring at it like it was poison. However, he took it, opening the wrapper slowly and examining the candy. Diaga happy scarfed down her own candy bar, and then broke into the beef jerky. She smiled as she took a swill of water and saw that Michael had nearly finished eating.

"See, not so bad," she said, turning the Vantage's engine and putting them back on the highway. The darkness again swallowed up the car, leaving nothing but a pair of taillights disappearing into the desert. For a long time, they were silent again. Diaga hummed little tunes to herself and chewed on little scraps of beef jerky, occupied enough with her driving.

Suddenly, the cell phone in her back pocket began to ring. She answered hastily, knowing exactly who was on the other line.

"Uh, hey Kru."

"Why haven't you called me yet? Have you made contact?" He didn't sound very happy.

"Well, yeah. He's what we were worried about."

"Did you ask about the extinction yet? What's going to happen? What about us?"

"I haven't really asked about all that yet," she said, biting her lip.

"Call me when you have answers, Diaga."

"Will do. Over and out." She closed the cell phone and quickly stuffed it back in her pocket, looking embarrassed.

"My coven leader," she explained, "He's the one who sent me."

"I'm glad he did, I'll need your help," Michael said, seeming despondent.

"About that – can I ask exactly what's happening? Why do you have to protect...whoever we're protecting?"

"I intend to stop the extinction," Michael said. After a moment, he amended, "I need your help to stop the extinction."

"I'm afraid I don't exactly understand."

"My Father has lost faith in the human race. I tried to dissuade him but there was nothing I could do. From the very beginning, we were told only to love them – I don't understand why we should turn on them now. There is much good in the people still, He just doesn't want to see it," said Michael, casting his eyes to the sky. Diaga bit her lip a little. The angel's eyes were plagued with sadness, the kind that a kind or silly remark couldn't banish. Try as she might, she couldn't come up with anything to say to him. Instead, she flipped on the radio and sang quietly. Perhaps it helped, because Michael leaned back in the seat and relaxed his posture.

"You have a very pretty singing voice, Diaga."


	4. Chapter Four

I'm so happy that you're reading Archangel! However, I must warn you that is EXTREMELY personal work and I will NOT tolerate any kind of flaming. If you don't like it, keep it to yourself. Please respect me and my writing. However, critique and comments are very appreciated! There are some parts that I'm not happy with, so any help is appreciated! =)

Please Note: This is the UPDATED version! This is not the same as it was when Archangel was first published onto ! So, please take some time to re-read chapters 1&2 before launching into 3&beyond!

Thanks again! Enjoy!

N.C.

* * *

Daylight had long broken by the time Diaga could see signs of intelligent life.

"Is that it?" she asked, slowing down considerably. She was referencing a small collection of buildings on the right side of the road. Michael nodded solemnly. Diaga slowly pulled off the road into the dusty parking lot. There was only one other vehicle around, a black SUV that looked as though it had just come from a mudding trip. The diner was at the centre of the complex, with two gas pumps right in front. Big letters, identifying the diner as Paradise Falls, occupied the roof. There was a trailer, a garage, and one other building about a hundred yards away, but that wasn't their destination.

As soon as Michael opened the passenger side door, four people descended upon them. The most aggressive was the oldest man, in his mid-50s, who was holding an old shotgun. Two younger men and a pregnant girl followed behind, keeping their distance. Diaga slowly got out of the car, her brow furrowed. Michael was already being threatened by the man with the gun. He was asking Michael to show his teeth and, as Diaga closed the driver's side door, he waved the gun in her direction and did the same thing.

"Let me see your teeth!"

Michael complied, baring his teeth at the man for a moment. One of the younger men, the white one, commented to his gun-toting father, saying the Michael didn't have "shark teeth". Then, they all focused on Diaga.

"You too, Missy," said the older man. Diaga's violet gaze darted toward Michael, who nodded. Diaga gulped and then bared her teeth, revealing her two oversized canine teeth.

"Sabre tooth," said the man, "What the hell are you?"

Diaga looked away, biting her lip. Her violet eyes grew guarded and cold as she took a half-step backwards. She usually had a fake badge or guise of authority to hide behind whenever she dealt with humans. Here, she had nothing. Well, nothing except Michael.

"Leave the girl alone," he said, "We're here to help."

The man looked uneasy but lowered his gun a few inches. Diaga's gaze lingered on him, carefully studying his movements. He was nervous.

"I'm sorry, it's just we've had a pretty nutty morning. An old woman went crazy, nearly bit a man in two. You mind tellin' me your names?"

Michael nodded. "My name is Michael, and this is Diaga. More like the old lady will be coming," he said. The man's face changed and he raised the weapon once again.

"What do you know about that?" he growled. Michael, without hesitation and with ease of practice, grabbed the gun's muzzle and took it expertly from the man's hands, turning it around on him and placing it directly on his forehead.

"Michael," Diaga said, her voice quivering, "What are you doing?" Michael shot her a look from across the Aston Martin's hood and returned his gaze to the man.

"She was only the beginning," he said, "Many more like her are coming. We all need to get inside." He lowered the weapon. Diaga chewed her lip for a moment then popped the trunk. She took her pack from where Michael had set it as he was getting out and then, car key in hand, went around to the trunk and lifted both duffel bags onto her shoulders.

Michael took one of the bags from Diaga, who (against her nature) didn't protest. She could tell that something had changed in Michael, as if he had suddenly become much colder than when she first met him. Not that it was a huge change, but keen Diaga could see it. She raised an eyebrow at the military-grade gun he pulled from the duffel bag but said nothing and followed him inside. He motioned for the others to follow, and handed a handgun to the pregnant woman, who was a fair, young thing with hair akin to Diaga's own, except lighter and much curlier. He placed his bag on the bar and started unzipping it, withdrawing several more heavy-duty guns from it. Diaga placed her duffel bag next to Michael's.

Paradise Falls Diner wasn't huge but Diaga could see that it was a formidable building. There were four booths along the outer wall, one occupied by a family that was covered in blood. It seemed that the father was injured, but stable. He must be the one that the old woman attacked. Behind the counter stood an older black man, heavy set with a mechanical hook in the place where his left hand had once been. The others who had followed them inside filtered into different areas – the girl and younger man sat at a booth far from the family, the older man went behind the counter, the young black man sat on a bar stool.

"My name is Michael," he said, his voice calm and haunting, "And there is something coming. We have to barricade the doors."

The older man with the shotgun took a step closer.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Look, we've got an injured man and no television signal; we don't need more of this shit."

Michael turned swiftly. His eyes were cold and unwavering, and he did nothing but stare at the man. Then he restated.

"Barricade the doors."

The man backed away, and then motioned for the other men to help him. They split into groups and began pushing tables against the doors, and then they went back into the depths of the diner to barricade the rest of the doors.

"What's your name?" Diaga asked the pregnant woman.

"Charlie," she replied, daubing at a tear that threatened to slide down her cheek.

"Pleased to meet you, Charlie," she said, extending her hand. The pregnant girl shook it, managing a small smile.

"Diaga, we need to go to the roof," Michael said from his gun table. She said goodbye to Charlie and then turned, following Michael and the older man into the back room and up a rather unsteady ladder onto the building's roof. The man introduced himself as Bob.

"Bob, we'll need to guard in shifts," Michael said, his eyes on Diaga, "We'll come down in 5 hours. I suggest you be prepared."

Bob nodded but said nothing else, and went back down the ladder.

"Five hours?" Diaga said, casting her eyes to the sun. She could feel it beating down on her face and hands, "My face will be all burnt by then." She made a face, pulling her coat's fur-lined hood up. She tried to pick out a spot with maximum shade to do her sentry duty, settling on the second letter "A" in "PARADISE".

Michael sat down on the roof, two big guns in hand. One went on the ground and the other got slung across his back. He watched as the vampire struggled for a moment to arrange herself out of the sun's light, and then he stood. Diaga didn't really pay attention to him; as soon as she was comfortably leaning against the diner's tall lettering, she pulled a pack of cards out of her bag. As she shuffled them she grew absent, her eyes glazed and staring into the desert. The familiar pull was less now. She still wished to be out in the sand, running with a pack of coyotes through the mountains, but she was content in the place and even more so with the company she was keeping. Despite his earlier distaste for her disease, Michael seemed to be warming up to her.

She could hear his footfalls as he shifted about uneasily, pacing on the front side of the roof, his eyes fixed on the road. She giggled, turning over onto her stomach and peeking thought the hole in the letters at him.

"You're going to be absolutely exhausted in 5 hours if you keep doing that," Diaga said, smirking.

"Yeah," he said, sitting back down near his gun, "You're probably right."

The vampire set her chin on top of her crossed arms, watching Michael as he watched the horizon. He sensed her gaze and turned to face her, raising his brows at her questioningly - as if asking what exactly she was doing. She just smiled and shifted about, making herself more comfortable. She started setting up a game of solitaire.

"So, what do you guys do up there?" she asked passively.

"Different things."

"What did _you_ do?"

Michael smiled.

"I was a General in His army. I was well respected and I deserved my title. I still do, though it doesn't matter anymore. Not if I don't succeed."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm mortal now," he said, presumably still honouring the agreement of honesty, "and I will undoubtedly have to battle with the archangel that He sends in my place. I could die; it's a very real possibility. And, if I do, I will only get back my wings if I succeed in changing his mind."

"Oh," the girl said, hiding her mouth behind her forearms, "That sucks. Do you think you'll win?"

"Regardless of whether I do or do not, there is a great punishment waiting for me when I face my Father again."

"Punishment? Even if you show Him that He's mistaken?"

Michael nodded solemnly. "Those are the rules."

"Grim," Diaga muttered, turning onto her back. She stared up at the cloudless sky; she was hardly able to believe that the apocalypse was happening. She knew she'd probably see it in her lifetime, but she didn't think she'd be on the frontlines. She definitely wouldn't've guessed who she'd be partnered with.

There was a twinge in her side and she stretched, like a cat would, and yawned, exposing her canines and tongue piercing. Michael caught sight of the orange bead, furrowing his brow.

"I got it like thirty years ago," she said, "But I haven't wanted to take it out. I kinda like it."

"Kinda like it?" he echoed, incredulous. "I'm not an expert on the subject, but shouldn't you like it more than "kinda" to keep it?"

"Why? It's not like I'm running out of time to change my mind."

"You'll run out one day," he said. She wasn't entirely certain about his tone.

"I hope so," she said, "I don't want to live to see the day that this planet becomes an empty wasteland. I'll take my wings any day, if you don't mind."

Michael actually managed a short laugh, though it was more out of spite than amusement.

"Your _wings_?"

"Big white ones with brown tips on the feathers."

He stood up, abandoning his guns in the corner, and sat down across from her. He leaned against the roof ledge, crossing his legs at the ankles. Then he gave her a very serious, very critical stare.

"He doesn't give wings to just anyone," he said, voice calm, "What makes you think you deserve them?"

Diaga bit her lip.

"Well, I don't _deserve_ them...but I hope I get them. I hope a lot of things. I hope that He would extend his blessings to a vampire. I hope that he approves of the way I lived my life. I can't face a world where a vampire is forsaken because of what she was made into. So, to answer your question: I have hope."

Michael's expression was difficult to judge. His blue eyes grew dark as he pondered her words for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. It wasn't a spiteful smile, nor was it a sad smile, like earlier. It was a genuinely pleased smile.

"Hope." He said the word as if it was foreign, strange on his tongue. Diaga smiled, pulling herself forward from under the giant letter. She remained on her hands and knees, taking two steps closer. She was careful not to disturb her game of solitaire and cautious on her approach toward Michael. He regarded her oddly, though not entirely distant.

"I hope," she said, rocking back onto her haunches and crossing her arms over her chest, "That you and I can be friends. Regardless of my vampirism."

His smile faded, but the deep, pure blue of his eyes didn't change. They were vast pools, an entire ocean, and they didn't freeze over as they had before.

"I'm beginning to understand you," he said, "I have hope too."


	5. Chapter Five

I'm so happy that you're reading Archangel! However, I must warn you that is EXTREMELY personal work and I will NOT tolerate any kind of flaming. If you don't like it, keep it to yourself. Please respect me and my writing. However, critique and comments are very appreciated! There are some parts that I'm not happy with, so any help is appreciated! =)

Please Note: This is the UPDATED version! This is not the same as it was when Archangel was first published onto ! So, please take some time to re-read chapters 1&2 before launching into 3!

Thanks again! Enjoy!

N.C.

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Hours passed without incident. Diaga hid behind the letters and under her coat's hood, avoiding the worst of the sun's damage. Michael, who grew nervous again after Diaga retreated from the sunlight, alternated between pacing the area and watching her play card games. When she invited him to play, he shook his head, saying that he didn't know how. Diaga, demanding that such a travesty be unwronged, taught him to play Go Fish. Soon enough, it was time for three of the human males, the two black men and Bob, to take the lookout post. Diaga climbed down the ladder first and turned around to see Charlie and the young white man sitting together in a booth. She went to them, half-smiling. The male introduced himself as Jeep.

"Well, our lookout was uneventful," Diaga reported, "So hopefully the trend will continue." She nodded to them both, then turned to talk to the little family that was huddled a few booths to the left. As she did, she almost smacked right into Michael's strong chest.

"Where is a first aid kit?" he asked Charlie from over Diaga. He was a good eight inches taller than her and could peer over the top of her head without a problem.

"There's one in the bathroom," said Jeep. Michael nodded then cast his eyes to Diaga, who scooted away to fetch the kit. When she returned she seated herself on top of the bar and told Michael to do the same and remove his shirt, just as he had done last time.

The family, aside from the dad, peered at Diaga and Michael as the girl quibbled with the tape and cotton on Michaels back. She tore the bloody old bandages from his back, making a face at the state of his wounds.

"Okay, you need to quit moving so much; you keep tearing them open," the girl growled, peering around Michael's shoulder at him. He looked back at her with one brow raised.

"No promises."

Diaga huffed at him and proceeded to clean and rebandage the wounds. If they had the time to heal, Michael would undoubtedly end up with massive scars. She smacked him lightly on the lower back when she was finished so that he would move, and then hopped down. When she took the kit back into the bathroom, she took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. Her pupils were dilated, barely showing any iris, and the areas around her eyes were darkened. Her hair seemed less bouncy and more flat. She chewed the inside of her cheek a moment.

"Michael?" she called. It only took the angel a moment to appear behind her.

"You need to feed," he said, looking at her reflection. He spoke without hesitation and, to Diaga's surprise, without disgust. She nodded and cast her eyes downward. Michael turned and went back into the main part of the dinner. Diaga stared at herself in the mirror for a bit longer until she heard Michael speaking with the family. The daughter seemed interested in whatever he was mumbling and came back to the bathroom.

"Hey, I heard you need some help," said the girl, "My name's Audrey"

Diaga turned around to face her. Michael was standing farther away, down the hall, peering at her with interest in his crystalline eyes. Diaga smiled at him and then told the girl that she needed a cup and a knife of some sort. The girl nodded and went to tell Michael. She returned with a small, sharp knife and a glass from the bar. Diaga took both and asked Audrey to sit on the sink. She took the knife and pressed it into the girl's wrist, making a small cut.

"Don't worry, it'll stop bleeding soon," Diaga said as she held the glass under the wound and let the blood drain into it. When an eighth of the cup was filled, she held the cup in her teeth and placed a wet folded paper towel on the wound.

"Hold it on for a while to stop the bleeding. Thank you so much."

Audrey smiled at her, slid from the sink, and exited the room. Michael was standing near the door, watching her with liquid blue eyes. Diaga dropped the knife, letting it clatter in the sink, and took the glass in her hand. She swirled the blood around and looked at it in disgust, then downed it in one swift motion. It was the one part of being a vampire that she _didn't_ enjoy. She felt like a monster every time.

"See, not so bad. Come on, there is one more door to board up," Michael said, turning down the hall. Diaga cocked her head to one side, confused but pleased with his acceptance, and placed the glass on the sink. _Where is he going now?_ she thought, following him.

The corridor took them to an "Employees Only" area, which looked as though it had once been a lounge but, as the number of employees waned, had turned into a storage room. There were boxes of sugar packets, new glasses, paper towels, and various other restaurant necessities. A small door stood there, which had been locked and barricaded with a wooden chair against the knob, but not much beyond that. Diaga asked what he planned on boarding the door up with and he pointed to a wooden-and-steel desk that sat in one corner, obviously useless. Diaga raised a brow at him but he went to the desk and tipped it onto its side.

"Help me manoeuvre it," he said, pushing the desk toward the door. Diaga moved closer to the desk and pulled it along. The pair moved it quite quickly and placed it firmly against the door. They exited the small room and boarded up the door with the "Employee's Only" sign with pieces of a broken chair. Michael made an unhappy face but said that it would have to do.

"So, I'm a bit confused," Diaga began as the pair re-entered the diner's eating area, "What _exactly _are we to be up against?"

"Angels," Michael said simply, "They will possess humans." He lifted the girl's bag from the bar and told her to go get an hour or two of sleep on the couch in Bob's office.

"Sounds cheerful," she said, taking her bag. She was becoming used to Michael's vague, show-not-tell approach. "You're not an android, ya know?"

Michael nodded. "But they need me if something happens."

Diaga made a "pssh" noise and then pointed at herself with her thumbs. "Superhuman, remember? I'll keep lookout for the nasties and wake you in an hour or so. You, on the other hand, are only as good as your mortal body."

Michael wasn't exactly happy with Diaga's words, but he couldn't deny their validity – exhaustion was weighing on his body like a hundred sandbags. Grimacing, he picked a gun from the bar counter and retreated into the interior office. Diaga smiled after him and took her bag up the ladder to have a chat with the men on the roof.

The sun was almost riding the western mountains, making the sky look like a watercolour of pinks, oranges, and purples mixed with the fading blues of the eastern sky. The moon had just appeared, a shade of it's usual self, but Diaga already felt stronger as she breathed in the coming-night air.

"What?" asked Bob gruffly when Diaga had placed her bag on the ground.

"Whadaya mean, what?"

"What do you want?"

"Oh." Diaga wasn't entirely certain if his tone was because of her teeth and eyes or because of Michael. "Just to be outside. Michael is asleep; though I'm sure it's with one eye open. We can holler for him if we need him."

"What the hell we care for?" asked the younger of the two black men, anger lacing his voice.

"Well, he is the one saving your asses. If you didn't care, why are you still here?"

"We tried and got attacked by flies. So there you go. Man, I can't believe I'm caught up in this shit." He sounded more exasperated than angry.

"I see," Diaga said, "Sorry about that, but I didn't exactly know what I was getting myself into either." She didn't have a great deal of sympathy for people who felt sorry for themselves.

"What _did_ you get yourself into?" asked Bob.

"Well, Michael had stolen a police car, that's what he was driving before I found him. I'm in league with certain...entities that needed to know exactly who had taken the car. So, I went after him and now, I'm here." It was difficult to tell the story without giving too much away.

"What qualified you to go after stolen police cars? Isn't that the _police's_ job?" Bob asked, raising a brow at her.

"Not entirely," she responded, "The company I...work for has a certain stake in the regional police."

Every man on the building seemed sceptical. Bob was just opening his mouth, probably to question the girl some more, but an oddly familiar tune was floating on the evening air. A tune that reminded Diaga of summertime. Turning to face the road, Diaga spoke.

"Is that-?"

"Ice cream," finished the young black man.

The hairs on Diaga's arms stood on end as she peered down the road. She could see a light in the distance. It was still behind the horizon line, but it was getting closer. Something about it made her uneasy.

"Stay here," she told the men. She dropped down the hole where the ladder was, landing on her feet with expert ease. She told Charlie and Audrey and her family to get on the floor and stay calm, and told Jeep that he needed to take a gun and stay below with them. She told them it would be okay and that they didn't have anything to worry about.

She then walked briskly to the office, her boots clip-clopping across the floor. She slipped through the door, closing it gently behind her. Michael was passed out on the couch against the wall, his head resting on his balled-up trench coat. She went and knelt near him, reaching forward to touch his well-muscled arm. For a moment, just before she woke him, she saw a quiet peacefulness on his face. For the first time, he didn't look angry or stressed. For a moment, she wished she could see him hold onto that peacefulness when his eyes were _open._ But the sight of lights over the horizon was still with her.

"Michael," she said, her voice laced with urgency. His eyes fluttered open. "Hey, Sleepyhead. Um, you may want to come up and check out what's outside."

Immediately and without a word, he got up, grabbing his gun from the floor. When he got to the door, he swooned a bit. He managed to grab for the door jamb with his free hand, but as his legs threatened to crumple beneath him, Diaga was at his side.

"You can't get up that fast," she said, placing her hands on his back, "You'll get dizzy."

"I noticed," he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Diaga made him walk slowly, holding onto his forearm and telling him about the music they had heard and the lights they had seen. When she and Michael had climbed the ladder and reached the roof, an ice cream van was pulling into the diner's parking area. The music was still floating through the air, haunting and quiet. Suddenly, Diaga understood why horror movies often used children's songs.

"Oh, creepy. Very creepy," She said, backing against the "P" in paradise. Her hand went to her hip, where the trusty peacemaker waited.

There was the sound of a door sliding open and driver got out, leaving the vehicle running. Diaga could make out that he was tall and wearing a yellow-and-orange striped uniform, complete with the little white hat. His pupils were so dilated that both eyeballs were completely darkened and his body seemed stiff, as if he had just woken from a thousand-year nap.

"Get ready," Michael said, his gun trained on the driver. Diaga crouched down, pressing herself further against the letter. She could feel the hot bulbs against her back, through her coat. All the other men did as Michael told them, though not with as much determination – they weren't too keen on taking a life. Diaga felt her instincts taking over and she moved onto the roof's ledge, crouching low and catlike. She shook off the coat – it was too thick and slowed her down.

The ice cream man began to twitch and shift and his limbs _extended_, growing and stretching out, as if the bones were being pulled by some invisible force. Diaga shivered and waited a moment. The man, who was (beyond a doubt) possessed by _something_, screamed, his jaw stretching down much farther than is should have. Diaga made a strange scream in return, a mix between a hiss and a roar, scrambling a few feet backwards on the ledge. There was an aura around the creature that made her shiver and quake with fear. This thing was _dangerous_. It went down to all fours like a demented bull and began to run toward the diner. Michael let loose a shower of gunfire, and the humans followed suit. The creature was quickly felled, but Michael continued to fire into its twitching body until he, and Diaga, was certain that it was dead.

"What the fu—" started one of the men, dumbstruck. Diaga's eyes began to fog with tears as she shuddered, her back against a chimney pipe. For a moment, everyone on the roof was silent; looking at each other, looking at Michael, and then something caught their attention – light. From beyond the horizon, lights were coming closer by the second. Lots of lights. And they were coming from both directions.

"Michael!" Diaga said, her voice strained and thin. Tears slid down her face as she watched the sources of the light coming closer, beginning to pop over the horizon. It was cars - lots and lots of cars. Inside, Diaga could see the forms of people, but they seemed to seizure and flop about unnaturally, as if something was shaking them from the inside out.

Michael came to her, taking her hands in one of his and resting his other palm on her cheek. He tilled her head to face him directly and locked his perfectly blue eyes with her violet ones. Hers blazed with a fire that he couldn't place.

"Diaga, it's going to be okay," he said, his voice low and calm as always, "I promise it will be. But I need you to help us. Please." He reached around her and pulled the peacemaker from its soft leather holster.

The girl nodded, taking a tighter grip on her gun as he pressed it into her palm. Michael rejoined the group of men and they all began firing into the cars. They were coming from both directions now and Michael went to the other side, taking a large rocket gun on his shoulder, and firing the missile into a car. There was a burst of energy and several cars wrecked into one another, causing the cars in the back to slow to a halt. Diaga felt a tightening in her chest as she saw the people leaving their cars and coming closer.

"Keep firing!" Michael shouted, "Don't let them get near the windows!"

Diaga, miraculously finding strength, stood expertly on the thin ledge and aimed the gun at the possessed people, firing shots at them. When her six were expended, she dropped the weapon on the roof. Some of them started getting too close to the window, and she grew afraid for the people inside the diner. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her fear into the back of her mind, and took a leaping stride off the building and onto the desert ground below.

The only thing Diaga could hear was gunfire blazing in the background and her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears like a war drum. She snarled loudly, allowing fierce, primal instinct to take over. She faced the coming Possessed, all of whom stared at her with blacked-out eyes and grinned with their tiny, sharp shark teeth. She bared her own canines at them, gnashing them against her other teeth with a loud _clink_ sound. They lunged at her, or passed her, and she lashed out with teeth and claw-like nails, expertly gouging out eyes and snapping necks.

Later, Diaga would remember only bits and pieces of the next moments. Darkness had encroached in all the places where fire didn't burn or the moon didn't shine, making it difficult to see just how many creatures were getting passed her. She knew that more than a few had, but they weren't her major concern – the onslaught of other Possessed was. They were still streaming from the cars like a flood. The sounds of glass breaking and gunfire didn't call her attention.

And suddenly, Diaga felt the hot bite of bullets entering her flesh. A hundred stings crippled her, sending her to her knees.

"We got 'em running!"

She heard the words distantly, as if in a dream. Pain split through her like fire, and she started to get tunnel vision as she felt the arms of someone pulling her to safety inside the diner. Flashlights shined in her eyes, then Michael's voice pierced the darkness.

"Don't go. I need you."

Diaga would never forget the sound of those words as they passed Michael's lips. His voice was so gentle in her ear, so comforting, and it pulled her out of the darkness. Those five words burned themselves into her mind, permanent and deep, and she would never rid herself of them. In that moment, with Michael's cheek against hers and his breath on her skin, she fell in love.

"Gah!" the vampire snarled, her voice pained, "Help me up." Her rise to consciousness had been sudden, like surfacing from a long dive to the bottom of the pool. Michael and another person pulled the girl to her feet, where she stood, hands on knees, collecting herself.

"God damn it," she hissed, "Who the fuck did that?"

Everyone in the area looked to Michael, but Diaga had already stopped caring about _who_ shot her, she just wanted the bullets out.

"Help me to the bathroom," she said, her breathing coming in laboured gasps. Blood had already soaked her jeans and the bottom of her shirt. Michael and Charlie (she had confirmed that it _was_ Charlie) helped her into the bathroom. The vampire left blood trails as she walked.

"Michael, the first aid kit," Charlie said as Diaga stumbled into the bathroom. The floor wasn't exactly clean, but seemed inviting in her current delirium. She stripped her bloody shirt off and knelt on the floor, where Michael was ready with a pair of long tweezer-type instruments. Diaga lay on her stomach carefully, and then both Michael and Charlie bent over her to examine the wounds.

"There are five," Michael said, "This is going to hurt."

"I know it is," Diaga growled. She opened her mouth to say something sharp but it was replaced by a pained shout as Michael began to dig for the first bullet. Pain nearly blinded the girl and she clenched her hands into tight fists. Charlie rolled up a clean part of the girl's shirt and stuffed it between her teeth so that she could bite down on it as Michael dropped the first bullet onto the floor.

After the fourth bullet '_ping'_ed on the bathroom tile, Diaga felt her consciousness fading again, out of sheer pain. She writhed under Michael's strong arms as Charlie dug for the last bullet, and screamed as the pregnant girl managed to extract it from the vampire's back. Michael quickly doused her back in a clear liquid that stung and burned, and then applied a bandage similar to the ones Diaga had put on him.

"Diaga?" he said, pulling the girl to her feet, "Can you hear me?"

The girl half-nodded, but she felt a wave of something, exhaustion or pain, crashing at her mind, pulling her under its depths. As Michael carried her into the office and laid her down on the couch, her mind faded to black.


	6. Chapter Six

I just wanted to leave a little note for all of the wonderful people who have commented on Archangel, piling me with praise and encouragement to keep posting. Well, ask and you shall receive! Archangel is now going to be updated on a weekly basis (every Tuesday) until its completion. But fret not, when Archangel is over I will take a short break until I begin publishing **Only Forever**, the sequel.

Thank you for all of your love and support! Enjoy chapter six!

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There was the tiniest stream of light touching Diaga's face, and she grew irritated with it as she fought through dreams to regain consciousness. Her purple orbs fluttered open and the first thing she saw was Jeep sitting in the chair across from her.

"Hey," he said, standing and coming closer to the girl, "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Diaga groaned and motioned to turn over, but a painful stiffness in her lower back prevented her. She exhaled slowly, irritated, and then covered her face with the dark blanket that had been thrown over her body.

"Hey Michael," Jeep hollered, "Come in here."

Diaga peeked from under her covers as Michael walked in, eyes first trained on Jeep and then on her. The tiniest smile crossed his lips for a moment and he knelt beside the couch as Jeep left the room.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'll live." A smile crossed the girl's face.

"I'm sorry," Michael said, "I had to make them get away. From Charlie."

"Don't be sorry, I understand," Diaga replied. She had already assumed that Charlie was the reason they were her. Or rather, her unborn child. "I'd have shot you too."

This got another one of the true-blue smiles from Michael, which Diaga had come to see as a small blessing. She couldn't help but to grin back. Michael reseated himself on the edge of the couch, then he looked at Diaga from over his shoulder.

"That was very brave," he said, "Thank you. If you hadn't have done that, I don't know if I'd gotten to Charlie in time to save her."

"I just wanted to help," the girl said, "Kind of just wanted to prove myself to you, I guess. So you'd know you didn't waste your time bringing me along."

Michael smiled at her again, this time to comfort her. He placed a fingertip to her temple and then a strange look came over his face, and he withdrew his hand. For a few moments, he was silent and stared at the floor.

"Why did you become a vampire?" he asked. Diaga was startled by his abruptness and it took her a moment, but she began to relay the story.

"Well, I didn't do it on purpose," she prefaced, "I was turned by my coven leader, Kruger. He and I grew up together, in England in 1754. I used to be named Sophie, back in the days of my real life.

"Kruger was courting me at the time, and we were in love. One evening, he came calling to tell me that he couldn't see me anymore. Naturally, as a girl of 16 (at the time), I was heartbroken. I didn't have courters after that. For four whole years, I was heartbroken and lonely. Then one night I saw him outside my window, watching me with strange red eyes. I thought I was going crazy, but I followed him to a field where a hundred sheep lay in bloody piles, massacred. Under the shepherd's shade tree, there he stood, completely immobile. Of course, I ran to him."

"He bit you," Michael said, "Then you two are together eternally."

"The curse is cruel, Michael, it would never allow such luxury. Yes, the creator and the creation share a special bond, but it is anything but romantic. Even though he tries his best to be sweet to me, to kiss me, and even to love me, it's...forced. So, yes, we are together eternally, but both of us are lonely eternally as well."

Michael seemed to think about her words for a while. Finally, he spoke.

"I was afraid that bringing you was a mistake. If I hadn't been so desperate, I would have left you behind. Or worse. But, for no reason other than to help, you risked your life. You haven't asked to leave, for payback, or even for a reason. You are...remarkably altruistic. I never expected that from a vampire."

"I'm not entirely altruistic," Diaga admitted, blushing, "I'm a writer, and I must say that you and this adventure we're having are providing some very good inspiration." She seemed to think for a moment and grew serious. "I had thought that becoming a vampire would give me more adventures and inspiration, but it turns out that it just gave me less. Kinda silly, right, to condemn myself like that?"

"Well, are you happy?"

"Now I am."

Michael stared at the floor and Diaga was afraid that she had said something she shouldn't have. Instead of pushing the issue, she bit her lip and leaned her head back on the pillow. Pillow? There hadn't _been_ any pillows. It must be Michael's coat. Reaching back, she could feel the thick material, like canvas but softer. She was certain that her blood had stained it. Grimacing, she resolved to try and clean it as soon as she was able to move around. Given how her strength was rapidly returning, it wouldn't take long. Less than an hour, certainly. Diaga wondered if Michael would stay with her the whole time or if he would have to go stand watch some more. She couldn't imagine why he would - these creatures seemed prone to night-time attacks. Even the Ice Cream Man had waited 'til the sun was behind the mountains to attack. Ice cream.

Diaga's stomach growled.

"You're hungry," Michael said, quickly looking up from the floor, as if grateful for the new subject to take his mind from the girl's words. Diaga half-smiled and nodded, though it hadn't been a question. He told her to wait one moment and got up, exiting the room and shutting the door behind him. Diaga took the time to lift the blanket and appraise the damage.

Her torso was covered in blood, as were her jeans. It also stained her hands, bra, hair, and back. Thankfully, she remembered that she had brought a change of clothes in her backpack. Once she had eaten and allowed her muscles to work out the kinks, she would try to clean herself off in the bathroom.

When Michael walked back in, she was sitting up, the blanket forgotten on the foot of the couch. Even though her skin was caked with crimson, it was easy to see her lean muscles moving underneath as she rolled her shoulders and reached her hands toward the ceiling. Her silver nails gleamed in the low light. Michael cleared his throat, but she already knew he was there. She finished stretching and yawned.

"Here you go," he said, extending a familiar blue-and-silver package toward her. The red letters Baby Ruth stood out on the package and Diaga immediately cracked a grin.

"How did you get this?" she asked, taking it from him and unwrapping it. Michael just smiled mysteriously and sat down next to her on the couch. She ate half of it, happily crunching on the peanuts and caramel. When she finished chewing, she extended the other half to Michael.

"Is something wrong with it?" he asked.

"No, Silly, but you need to eat too."

Without a word, Michael accepted the candy bar, taking a bite and chewing slowly. Diaga occupied herself with more stretching, more massaging of her own shoulders and neck, more running her hands through her blood-crusted hair. When he had finished and tossed the wrapper across the floor, Diaga had already found the strength to stand.

"Easy," Michael said, standing behind her. She took a step forward, which he mirrored, hands only inches from her to catch her should she stumble. Another step. And another. When she moved to turn around, she faltered, but quickly caught her balance. Then she smiled up at him.

"Where is my pack?"

He gestured to the wall near the couch. Resting against the side of it, her pack was unopened. She picked it up, using the couch arm as support, and held it by her feet as she walked slowly to the door to go clean up. It yielded to her as she pushed through, and then swung closed.

_Catch her should she stumble._ The thought echoed in Michael's head. He remembered the pang of fear when she leapt from the roof, the stab of guilt when he let loose a dozen rounds and five of them embedded themselves into her skin, the absolutely devastating rush of sorrow that hit him, like a wave, as he watched her bleeding on the floor. _Don't go. I need you._

Hidden in his pocket was a disc of wood. Polished to a shine, smooth as a river stone, and everlasting as God himself. On one side was a carved feather, on the other was carved his name in the proper language. There was a hole bored through the top – it was made to be worn as a pendant. It was the _Geall Cleite_ – the pledge feather. He ran his thumb over his name, feeling the groves and the curves. So many times had he looked at it and wondered if he would ever give it to someone. Century after century, all he had ever felt was the Angelic love that he was supposed to feel for all of God's creations – but this was different.

There had never been an earthly _Ceile_. Confusion, doubt, and fear clouded Michael's mind just _thinking_ such a thing. He looked at the ceiling.

"If you haven't turned your eyes from me, I need one shred of help. What do I do with a girl with amethyst eyes?"


	7. Chapter Seven

Posting this late, I'm sorry! =( The internet at my house has been out so I had to come into my work early and hook to the wifi to post. =) I won't let you guys down!

I was thinking of splitting this chapter into two, but thought that might be too mean. ;)

Enjoy chapter seven!

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It took Diaga longer than she imagined to get clean. Vampire blood, as it turned out, had a rather nasty habit of staining skin. She went through all of the paper towels and still had wine-coloured stains on her hands and sides. She washed her hair in the sink and shook it, sending a spray of water along the walls and mirrors. After she slipped out of her clothes and into fresh undergarments, she had tried to peel the bandages off and take a look at her wounds, but turning so extremely proved too much for her still-weak back muscles. She rummaged through her pack and picked up the second pair of clothes – jean shorts and a long-sleeved grey shirt.

"Shorts? I must have lost my brain," she said to herself, slipping into them anyway. It was better than putting bloody jeans back on. She had recently shaved and her hair didn't grow nearly as fast as a human's, so her long ivory legs were smooth as butter. She ran her fingertips down them for a few moments before pulling on her boots and heading back into the ending world. Charlie was waiting at the door.

"You made it," she said, "Figured you would. You were fightin' like a mad bull when we were pullin' those bollets out of your back."

Diaga couldn't help but smile.

"It'll take more than that to keep me down," she said. The pair continued down the hallway and into the main diner. Radio static was rampant, coming from an old radio on the bar. Audrey, bloody and tired, was sitting on a stool and tuning it. So far, it seemed that she hadn't made much progress. Jeep, Bob, and the young black man were all re-boarding the windows and doors, this time with much less hap-hazard methods. Michael surveyed their progress, a shotgun resting on his shoulder. Audrey's mother was, oddly, tied in a chair. Her father was nowhere in sight. Neither was the older man with the hook.

"Charlie," she asked, voice quiet, "What happened?"

Charlie's pleasant face was grim.

"Percy and Audrey's dad, Howard, were both killed." She made a sorry little half-smile and then turned away, probably to be alone for a little while. Diaga felt a pang of guilt – she hadn't even known their names before now. She chewed her lip, then went to where Audrey was sitting.

"Hey," she said, "I just heard."

"It's fine," Audrey replied, not looking away from the tuner.

"I know. My dad died when I was sixty-three. It doesn't go away, but it gets better."

Audrey looked sceptic and vocalized it.

"Sixty-three?" she said, finally looking up and raising a brow.

"Yes. I celebrated my 273rd birthday earlier this month."

"What are you?"

"Oh, come now, you're smarter than that," Diaga said, laughing.

"I didn't think vampires were real," she said. Diaga merely pointed at Michael.

"Bet you didn't think he was real either, until he was standing in front of you." This got a smile from the younger girl. Diaga smiled back and was about to add onto her sentence, but suddenly a voice came over the radio. It was the voice of a man, nervous and rushed, but adamant. In the face of disaster, he was determined to get word to the survivors.

"Does this mean that we can leave?" Audrey asked, turning toward Michael. They all already knew what the answer was, but the last glimmer of hope didn't leave Audrey's eyes until Michael shook his head.

"No," he said in his gentle, quiet voice, "I won't risk being on the move when the baby comes."

From her place on a box in the kitchen, Charlie heard the finality of his voice. Diaga heard it too. This diner would be where they made their last stand. Everyone, who had momentarily stilled, resumed working. Boards were cut and nailed in place faster. For a few moments, Diaga felt helpless. She wasn't able to lift the boards or hammer in the nails without further injuring herself. So she settled on something she could do – insure that Michael was as fit as possible.

"Come here," she said, grabbing the first aid kit from the counter and taking it to one of the booths. She sat on the table, setting the canvas bag beside her. Michael obeyed, placing his shotgun behind her and sitting down on the seat. He pulled off his shirt, leaving it in his lap for the time being. Diaga tore the current bandages from his back and began investigating the wounds.

"They're healing fine," she said, "But slower than you'd care to know. I'm going to kick-start them, alright?" she said, peering over Michael's shoulder. He nodded his agreement. At this point, he trusted her with anything. She got out gauze pads and covered them in the stinging antiseptic, then firmly placed them on the twin wounds. A hiss escaped Michael's throat and he recoiled slightly.

"Don't be a baby," she teased, pulling the pads off the wounds. "This next part _will_ hurt." Without waiting on a reaction, she bent down and began to blow on the wounds. Her breath came out as a cold white fog, which broke and buffeted against Michael's skin like the tides of the ocean on rocks. A great searing pain washed over him, causing him to cry out. Diaga put her hands on his shoulders, steadying him as his consciousness slipped away.

Her one magic, the one gift that vampires had been granted, was of excruciatingly-painful healing. When the fog dissipated, the scars were smooth on Michael's back, the stitches eaten away and the blood cleaned. He slouched under her hands and she quickly slid from the table, taking one arm over her shoulders and pulling him to his feet. He was already stirring, but would be dizzy for a decent chunk of time. The vampire wrestled him into the back room and onto the couch, then sat idly in a chair, writing in the notebook from her backpack. When her hand grew sore, she placed the notebook on the floor and looked up to see Michael watching her with his endless-ocean gaze.

"What were you writing?" he asked. He looked peaceful and calm, though Diaga could hear the lingering pain laced in his voice.

"About you shooting me," she said, her voice mockingly-stern but her eyes soft, melted, and open. They were the same eyes that she peered at the desert with. The pull, the yearning, had indeed changed. It was pulling her now toward the man who was sitting on the couch. Her angel, her guardian, her protector. The man who had said _I need you_. The man who she wasn't at all certain of how he felt about her. The unknowing made her nervous.

"Why in the world would you write about that?" He was smiling his genuine smile.

"Well," she admitted, "Not exactly about being _shot_. More about what happened _after_ you shot me."

"What about it? You were barely conscious on the floor." His amusement had switched to a strange curiosity. He remembered exactly what he had told her when she was laying on the floor, bleeding, almost dead. He remembered his hands and knees on the tile, in the blood, and his cheek pressed against hers. Her hot, sweet breath. Her hands on his wrists. Despite the ache in his upper back and the sharp pains in his shoulders, the only thing he could feel was fear of what she would say next.

"I was writing what you said to me. How you brought me back from the edge."

Michael felt as if his heart would burst. Gladness and sorrow at the same time flooded him. His words really _had_ brought her back, called her soul. In his current state – forfeit of the powers he usually had – calling her soul meant only one thing. Diaga was, indeed, his _Ceile. _How was that possible? She was earthly. She was a _vampire_ – a creature that God had long forsaken. Michael leaned forward to cradle his head in his hands. _How is this possible? How is this the path that He was leading him toward?_

Diaga watched as some kind of emotional train wreck happened behind Michael's clear blue eyes. Biting her lip, she stood up. She was uncertain of everything – uncertain of what to do now, uncertain of what she felt toward him, uncertain of what the next 24 hours would bring. Uncertainty was _not_ something she was used to. The pull toward the desert, the uncontrolled rush of galloping with a herd of wild horses, the blaze of anger right before she took her boot to the face of a Rogue vampire. All of these feelings, while risky and sometimes unpleasant, she was used to. Uncertainty made her...it made her sad.

"Michael? You okay?" Her voice was small.

The Archangel stood. He shouldn't've, he was still probably in considerable pain, but the expression he wore made Diaga still herself.

"There is something I have for you," he began, taking something out of his pocket, "But first, I must teach you the significance.

"When God created angels, he made us a strange combination of divine and human. We are capable of Angelic love, free will, and we are responsible for some guiding of souls. We are warriors, messengers, and over the years we have followed my Father's orders unconditionally – some more than others.

"But our hearts were incomplete. We are capable of a little selfishness and some angels found that they yearned for one another emotionally. My Merciful Father loves us, too, so he allowed us a boon – the _Geall Cleite._ The colloquial is 'pledge feather'. They are to be given from the male to the female angel who is his, as a human would put it, soul mate. The Language is literally translated as 'twin souls'." Michael seemed to hit a wall. He tried to speak several times, all the time clutching whatever he pulled from his pocket until his knuckles were white.

While Diaga wasn't entirely certain of the purpose of his history lesson, she saw clearly that it was important to him. But she also saw the turmoil in his eyes, the way the colour was draining from his face, and the stiff position he was taking – as if it was all he could do to keep on standing.

"Michael, sit down." He didn't miss the concern in her voice but this wasn't something to do casually sitting. This was _important_.

"Hear me out and I will sit."

She nodded, though she had taken a few steps closer so that she could catch him if he passed out.

"The pledge feather has never been given to an earthly being – mortal or otherwise. Rumours had circulated once of an angel who bedded a human woman, but he did not make her _Ceile – _lifemate. I think...I _think_ that it was because of his wavering love that there was punishment. Because, in the midst of all this mess, my Father has pointed me to you." He took a step closer to her, eyes on his hands. He extended to her the object he had taken from his pocket.

It fit in the palm of her hand - an impossibly smooth, shining disc of redwood. On one side was the perfectly carved form of a feather, coloured black by some kind of varnish. On the other side, carved and varnished as well, were seven strange symbols. While she couldn't read them, she knew the language – Enochian. Given the brief history lesson, she guessed that it spelled out "Michael". She traced the first letter, which was a perfect double curve, the lines graceful and strong.

"Life without you is pale. You have brought colour to my world."

When he spoke, something broke loose in Diaga. The pulling sensation ceased, letting a great flood of warm love flow down in its place. It was a purer love than she had ever thought possible, an unbridled feeling of divine intervention that not only connected her heart to Michael's, but bound them as well. As her cheeks flushed and she looked up at Michael with a pair of eyes that held more devotion than a thousand humans could have, she understood the term "twin souls".

And then suddenly, his hands were in her curls and his lips were on hers. Diaga's heart caught in her throat, nearly choking her, but she inhaled sharply and found Michael's scalp with her own hands, running her fingernails over his short-cropped hair. He pulled her closer, wrapping one arm around her. She ran her fingers along the slope of his jaw, carefully, as if afraid to touch him too much. When he broke the kiss, he protectively pulled her closer. She buried her face in his shoulder, closing her eyes against everything but his touch.

"Why is He doing this?"

Michael pulled away, brow furrowed. His face was pale – he was still weak from the healing – but he made no motion to sit down. Diaga bit her lip, staring him straight in the face with a pair of purple eyes that seemed to boil with emotion.

"I don't understand," she continued, "Why would He put this in our path if he intends to send another Archangel to finish the job? To hurt you?"

Michael shook his head, as if to say he didn't know, but his eyes were cloudy and darkened. Diaga could see the half-truth he was attempting to concoct to put her more at ease but would no sooner allow Michael to become a liar than she would to spear herself through the heart with a wooden stake.

"There is something you aren't saying," she said.

"You mustn't be angry with the angel that He is sending in my place," he replied, eyes still dark.

"You know who He's sending?"

"I _think_ I know. I can only make guesses. But if I'm right and if talking doesn't help...I doubt it is a battle I can win without my wings."

A flash of anger ignited in Diaga's heart and she slammed her fists on Michael's chest, causing him, in his weakened state, to stumble backwards.

"Then why the hell are you doing this? Humans condemned themselves, let _them_ pay for it! Why must you die for them?" The anger in her voice only masked a sadness that nearly brought forward hot tears. She couldn't bear to find this man, this beautiful angel who felt like home to her, just to have him ripped away again.

Michael furrowed his brow lightly, his features soft and his eyes clear. That smile spread across his lips again, gentle and sincere, as he wrapped Diaga in his arms again and stroked her hair for a moment.

"Come now, Diaga, you speak out of fear," he said, kissing the top of her head, "But I say to you 'have faith, do not despair'. You are the essence of hope, my Love, so have hope that things will be good."

"Don't get all biblical on me," she said, letting a faint smile dance on her lips, "This still sucks."

"It does," he replied, chuckling, "But I swear to you that there is more to the story than just tonight. You will have to be strong and trust in the Lord."

"How can you be so certain when you're fighting Doomsday?"

"I don't know." He leaned his forehead against hers, peering into her violet eyes. They were liquid fire, molten and deeper than the ocean. Never before had he seen eyes so beautiful, just looking into them almost made his knees buckle. Diaga kissed him again and he grasped her empty hand tightly.

"Do you have something to keep that safe?" he asked, touching the hand that held the _geall cleite_ with his fingertips. It was almost time for their spell to be broken and for them to once again begin the fight for humanity's survival.

"I have this," she said, reaching around her neck and untying a dark leather string. Once, it had held a ruby inlaid in silver, but only twenty years previous, she had smashed it in a fit of rage. The leather string remained though, perhaps solely for this reason. She looped it through the hole in the top of the redwood disc and, after making sure it was secure, tied it back around her neck. It sat heavily on her chest just below the hollow of her throat.

"Perfect," Michael said, smiling again, "As long as you have that, you have me."

The words were strangely comforting, even as he squeezed her hand again and then made his way toward the door. He paused before turning the doorknob to look at the girl, to have one more moment to drink in her presence before all illusions of peace were shattered. They stared into each other's eyes, exhaled, and then Michael opened the door.


End file.
